Muted Sociopath's
by DrunkenTink
Summary: In a world that has fallen apart, Ginny Weasley has been left in the care of an asylum for the mentally unwell. When a visitor invades her bleak existence will he give her any answers to the many questions she holds about her life, and if he does will the truth destroy her or set her free?
**Muted Sociopath's**

 **Chapter One**

I shift on the bed so I can see more comfortably out of the window. It's raining. It always seems to be raining; I can't say I mind as it suits my mood. Thunder rumbles, and there's a flash of light far into the distance. I close my eyes to soak in the melancholy atmosphere. _Atmosphere_ I almost snort at the thought. One thing this place certainly isn't lacking in is atmosphere. Joy – none, laughter – none but there is plenty of the silent, depressing atmosphere. Some days it almost chokes me. Some days I wish it would.

My eyes flicker to a strand of my hair that is rubbing annoyingly against my nose. The redness of it has faded over the last months, or years… it's hard to keep track of how long I've been in here. But either way my hair is the only colorful thing in the room, violently clashing with the pure white of the bedding and walls. There's nothing else in the room, I'm not allowed anything else. Other items might give me idea's, about escaping or hurting myself, even I'm not sure which I'd pick. But as I blow the unwanted lone hair out of face I can't help but think back to when my hair was bright, when there was joy and laughter and when there was a future that still held hope within its possibilities.

I had a family once. A large, overwhelming family in which I often felt lost within, the baby and only girl in a family who showed their love by being overbearing at times and who at other times showed they cared by being the loudest voice. I had a future that seemed like it was almost certainly going to come true – I would be married and disgustingly in love with the boy who I had been since I was 10 years old – Harry Potter. I was going to become a professional Quidditch player before retiring to have kids and be so happy it seemed like something out of a fairy tale book. Funnily enough just like the stories in most fairy tales none of this happened. I didn't get my happy ending. Instead I'm stuck inside this plain, dilapidated building living a pale imitation of life.

'Why are you all huddled up? Is the lightning bothering you?'

I can never tell whether the nurses here are genuinely concerned or just being sarcastic. I think it's probably the latter as she knows I can't communicate with her, that and I think she assumes I'm too loopy to know what she's talking about. I have no idea why I can't communicate. Why the only way I can even make sense to myself is in my own head. For the last however long I haven't been able to speak or even write down what I think. When it first happened and it was assumed I had obviously been cursed, I tried every conceivable way to at least answer basic questions, but when your voice completely stops working, whenever you attempt to write it comes out as pig latin, your eyes don't even blink at times and there is no evidence of dark magic found on you people start to assume that because of what you've gone through you've just decided to become a non-responsive mute.

I look over to the doorway as she makes her way toward me with a beaker of potion. The magical cure for all potion that has never, to my knowledge and since I seem to be the only one who knows I haven't simply decided to become so isolated that I now live in an asylum is the only opinion that counts, actually worked at all. It's pointless trying not to take it – my hands and arms are strapped to the bed after all. That and I can't be bothered with the hassle of her working out some other way to get it inside me. Drinking the bitter slightly smoking potion never seems to get better, it still tastes of mud, but at least it gets her to be done in here quickly. There's nothing worse than fake sympathy and general nosiness.

Before I can celebrate being left to wallow in my own company again a voice assaults my ears.

'Hello love.'

The tone of it washing over me like a hot bath or butter and honey mixed together. A voice I haven't heard in what feels like an exceptionally long time – Blaise Zabini.

* * *

 **So I thought I'd give another try to a multi-chapter story. Unlike the last one this one already has a plot in my head so I can't go abandoning it as it's already driving me crazy to work out where it's going.**

 **Please let me know what you think of it. I've already started with the second chapter so as soon as that's done I'll get it posted but I would love some feedback.**


End file.
